


Fetish

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No Sex, but rated mature because I feel the concept of a fetish should always be rated M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 22:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale buys a new pair of shoes. Crowley really, really likes them.





	Fetish

“_What_ … are … _thossse_?” Crowley hisses, eyes glued, Aziraphale thinks, to a spot on the floor. Or possibly under the floor? Could there be something buried underneath his shop? Something steeped in mystical power?

It may sound strange for an angel to say, but he’s always felt a presence here, something not of Heaven or Hell, something he couldn’t quite place.

Is there a chance, however far-reaching, that his bookshop could be haunted and he never noticed it?

The irony would be incredible, but seeing how things have been going with him over the past few decades, he could see how he might have simply overlooked it.

“What are what?” Aziraphale asks, peering through the floorboards, trying to see what Crowley sees.

“_Those_,” Crowley says, removing his sunglasses and pointing at Aziraphale’s feet.

“Do you mean … my shoes?” Aziraphale looks down at his shoes, wondering what’s wrong, until he finally remembers.

They’re new. Well, new-ish. They’re vintage. He found them at a nearby resale shop and couldn’t resist. It’s been so long since he’s changed anything about his look, he thought, _‘Why not?’_ He figured he’d wait for Crowley to notice them. Then after a while, he’d gotten so busy, he completely forgot to mention them.

“A-ha.” Crowley grins, but it’s one Aziraphale can’t read – the grin of a demon with too many wicked ideas manifesting in his head. Crowley crouches down for a better look. He runs a finger along the side. It sends a chill up Aziraphale’s leg. “Are these … _snakeskin_?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale yelps. “Oh my goodness! Are they? I---I didn’t even think! I chose them on looks alone! I remember thinking they looked a little bit like your …” Before he can even finish that sentence, he mentally slaps himself in the face. “Oh, dear! Oh, I hope you’re not offended or …”

Crowley stands up, cracking his neck with a single movement of his head, that grin of his curling up the sides of his face. “Do you know what a fetish is, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide, the tips of his ears burning a bright red to match the flustered warmth painting his cheeks. “Ah, well, I understand the word, and the concept on a broad scale. But as for actual practice, I---I …” Aziraphale stammers to a stop as Crowley locks his front door, flipping the sign on the window from _open_ to _closed_.

“Well, angel,” Crowley says, snapping his fingers to lower the blinds, then again to evacuate all the remaining light from the room, the only glow remaining from Aziraphale’s aura and Crowley’s yellow eyes, “you’re about to find out.”


End file.
